


Rumour Has It

by ErinDarroch, JustineGraham



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Conversation, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 07:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11823585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinDarroch/pseuds/ErinDarroch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustineGraham/pseuds/JustineGraham
Summary: Four months after the Battle of Yavin, a chance meeting gives Han and Leia an opportunity to get to know each other a little better.





	Rumour Has It

 

Leia Organa shuffled through the darkened corridors of Oracle Outpost, yawning and scrubbing at her bleary eyes as she made her way towards the centre of the military compound, the current home of the Alliance cell to which she’d been assigned. This small base on the desert planet of Rasdun was merely the latest in a series of temporary encampments inhabited by the Rebels over the four standard months since the pivotal Battle of Yavin. Their destruction of the Death Star in that encounter had struck a mighty blow against the hated Empire, but it had also unleashed the full fury of Palpatine himself against them. Now, the myriad cells of the Alliance were forced to splinter even further and to stay on the move. Alighting planetside only briefly and in locations as far removed from the Core as they could manage, they continually fled before the Emperor’s wrath, all the while striving to keep up the pressure on Imperial forces through carefully planned attacks of their own. The destruction of the battle station had certainly been a monumental victory, but it had come with a price; one that Leia and her comrades were continuing to pay.

Although the Death Star itself was no more than space dust now, the horror of it was never far from Leia’s thoughts; it persisted both in her waking memories and in the torturous dreams that plagued her nights. Those nightmares tended to fall into one of two categories; either she experienced all over again the agony of the torture she’d endured, or she relived the horrific moment when she’d witnessed the destruction of her home planet and the wholesale slaughter of billions, including her own parents. Given the choice, she’d gladly take the former every time. The horrifyingly real sensation of a long needle piercing her lower spine followed by the caustic burn of chemicals flooding her pelvis and lower limbs had been the impetus that had jolted her from sleep at such an unholy hour. She’d lurched awake, drenched in cold sweat, her body at first arching, contorted as if trying to escape the sharp intrusion, and then overtaken by violent shudders she could not control. She’d collapsed back upon her thin mattress then and lain awake for a while, shaking under the worn blankets in the utilitarian cot that served as her nightly accommodation, trying to ignore both the phantom pain and the very real ache of muscles made tender by sustained tension.

Eventually, knowing the futility of trying to return to sleep in that condition, she’d shoved her feet into a pair of short boots, pulled a threadbare wrap over her faded grey tank and black shorts, and headed for the mess hall in search of a cup of hot kaffe. At this hour, the base passages stretching between personnel quarters and central services were mostly deserted, with the only signs of activity coming from a few cleaning and maintenance droids that trundled along the corridors, attending to their overnight duties. Cold drafts flanked her movements down the long hallways, stirrings of dust and sand swirling at her feet as she covered the distance between her assigned bunk and the mess hall, shivering and clutching the thin robe around her body in a vain attempt to stave off the chill.

Thankfully, Leia mused, the one thing the Rasdun base _did_ have going for it was that the kaffe in the mess hall was always hot and plentiful, and redeemed its lack of appreciable flavour by its powerful capacity to stimulate. Scuffing her way into the large room, Leia squinted as the automatic lights flickered on, rising swiftly to full brightness, despite the early hour. Grumbling over the harsh lighting, Leia headed straight for the auto-kaffe, selected an insulated mug from the nearby rack and positioned it under the dispenser before pressing the brew button. As the ancient machine began to sputter and cough, Leia yawned again, feeling the pressing weight of weariness settling atop the lingering anxious tension brought on by her nightmare, and wincing at the dull ache that pervaded her lower back. She hoped the strong kaffe and some quiet time alone would simultaneously wake her up and settle her churning emotions, although she suspected that nothing short of a full-body massage would ease her aching muscles—and the chances of getting one of those in this environment were slim to none.

While she waited, she toyed absently with a wavy lock of hair that tumbled over one shoulder. The rest of her long tresses, freed from their usual braids, swung loosely down her back, almost to her hips. For the thousandth time, she twisted a strand around her finger and mused over the proposition of cutting it. The issue was fraught, however, for a variety of reasons, and she dismissed the possibility almost as soon as she raised it. No matter how impractical it was, her long hair represented a slender connection to her lost culture and, as such, was something she was loath to change. Still, she was grateful for times like this when the base was skeleton-staffed and the majority of its residents asleep, so she could wear it informally—and feel a little bit more like her true self—without fear of running into anyone.

The wheezing and whirring of the outmoded appliance drew Leia’s attention back to her quest for kaffe. The initial sputtering had escalated to a rather alarming racket, but now the stream of hot liquid began gushing down into her waiting cup. Leia eyed the machine warily as the flow slowed to a trickle, and the whirring finally stopped with a mechanical _thunk_. That last noise sounded rather _final_ , Leia thought, and she reached for her kaffe feeling grateful that she’d managed to procure at least one full cup before the contraption died. She took a moment to lift the steaming mug to her lips, closing her eyes against the bright lights and savouring the first hot sip with a grateful sigh. Holding the cup in both hands, she willed its warmth to seep through her fingers and into the rest of her body as she wondered—not for the first time—how a desert that reached scorching hot temperatures during the day could possibly get so bitingly cold at night. The environmental controls kept the base temperatures within tolerable parameters, but _tolerable_ did not necessary translate to _comfortable._

Cradling her mug, she turned and wandered to a table at the far side of the empty room and sat down, glancing up at the chrono embedded high in the wall as she did so, and grimacing a little at the time. Almost three hours remained until the next shift change, she noted, which meant that she’d only managed to get about four hours of sleep—for the tenth night in a row. She was due a crash soon, she knew; her body could only take so much before she would find herself crawling into her bunk immediately after a shift and lying unconscious and dreamless for ten hours or more, only to wake and start the whole cycle over again. Such had been her sleep pattern for a little over four months, and she was starting to get used to it and to resign herself to the fact that she would never sleep normally again.

On the bright side, though, her early rising left plenty of time to enjoy a cup of her favourite beverage—or two, if the machine would cooperate—in peace and quiet, before she had to head back to her quarters to begin her daytime routine. Setting her cup aside, she yawned again and crossed her arms on the table in front of her, dropping her head down and closing her eyes to block out the glare of the overhead lights.

She remained like that for a few minutes, as the last noxious dregs of the nightmare faded from her thoughts. She was finally beginning to unwind a little when she heard the sudden soft hissing slide of the mess hall door release. Lifting her head and glancing upwards, she felt her heart sink.

Judging by the expression on his face, Han Solo was just as surprised and dismayed to see her at this hour as she was to see him, though he recovered quickly.

“Princess,” he muttered, sketching a two-fingered salute in her general direction as he headed for the self-service station at the end of the long, durasteel counter.

“Captain,” she acknowledged with a slight nod of her head, eyeing him warily.

He approached the auto-kaffe, took one of the insulated mugs from the rack and began filling it, then angled around to look in Leia’s direction. “Mind if I join you?” he asked, jerking his chin towards her table.

Leia looked around at the deserted mess hall with an exaggerated air of scrutiny, and then shrugged. “Sure, if you can find a place to sit,” she replied in a dry tone.

As Han gave a tired smirk in reply and turned his attention back to the sputtering kaffe machine, Leia noted with interest that his clothes—a thin grey t-shirt and slouchy black sleep pants—were almost identical to her own, although he’d opted for a pair of battered work boots with old-fashioned laces, which he hadn’t bothered to tie. The overall effect was intriguing because it was new; Leia couldn’t recall ever seeing him in anything other than his usual spacer’s garb, and it was a little disconcerting—as was the way the thin material of the shirt clung to the muscled contours of his broad shoulders and back...and the way the baggy pants hung low on his narrow hips….  

Leia realized with a little jolt that she was openly staring at him—eyeing him up and down from the top of his rumpled head to the heels of his worn-out boots. She lowered her gaze to her cup and then lifted it to her lips once more, shaking off the aimless thoughts and chalking them up to yet another symptom of her exhaustion. Han Solo was the last man on the planet she should be ogling.

Frankly, she was surprised he hadn’t turned on his heel and exited the mess hall the instant he’d caught sight of her. Although in the four months of their acquaintance they’d developed a cordial working relationship—even verging now, Leia would venture to say, on true friendship—their most recent encounter, which had taken place sixteen hours earlier and in the middle of the busy main hangar at midday, hadn’t ended well. It hadn’t _begun_ well, either, for that matter. In fact, the whole conversation, if _conversation_ was even the proper term for it, had been a bit of a disaster from start to finish, Leia thought with some chagrin.

She’d been tasked by General Dodonna to speak to Han about an anonymous report received by High Command about him—a report that implied he’d been submitting forged equipment requisitions in an attempt to secure parts for the _Millennium Falcon_ unfairly, ahead of the many disabled starfighters and freighters already in the queue. Not only had Han adamantly denied any wrongdoing, he’d been incensed by Leia’s enquiry, and the heated shouting match that had ensued between them had set heads turning and tongues wagging all over the base.

Leia winced at the memory, wishing she’d managed to handle the situation with more aplomb. Much to her exasperation, the Corellian smuggler seemed to have a way of getting under her skin like no one else she’d ever met, stripping her of her practiced diplomatic language and provoking her to behaviour most unbecoming of a princess. She frowned into her kaffe cup and resolved to keep her cool this time, no matter what Han might decide to say or do.

A loud bang and a muttered Corellian curse drew her attention back to where he stood in front of the auto-kaffe. His attempt to draw a cup of liquid from the decrepit machine seemed to have hit a snag. As she watched, he gave the equipment another bang with the heel of his hand, and then reached around to blindly jiggle a few of the tubes and wires at the back.

Leia rolled her eyes at his brutish repair methods. If that was the way he usually approached faulty equipment, she mused, it was no wonder he had endless problems with that battered rust bucket he called a ship. She suppressed the urge to laugh at his continuing thumps and curses, though; she had no wish to insult him again and reignite their earlier hostilities. Instead, she lifted her cup, sipped her drink and watched with interest as he set about removing the side panel of the auto-kaffe, then started poking around at the snarl of tubes and wires on the interior.

For her part, Leia hadn’t meant to be confrontational about the matter of the bogus requisitions, but Han’s immediate and very snide retort, coupled with the subsequent blistering invective he’d unleashed on her about High Command and the gullibility of _certain people_ —with a pointed glare at Leia herself—had scorched her efforts at objectivity and temporarily eradicated her inclination to view the report with scepticism.

The report was dubious, at best, anyway. In addition to having been made anonymously, it had also been suspiciously vague on the details of the alleged misconduct, and some sixth sense told Leia to be wary of it. More importantly, she simply didn’t believe Han would resort to that sort of underhanded manoeuvre, no matter how badly he needed the equipment. As a rule, he was forthright about his requirements, and High Command had always done their best to accommodate his needs, given the constraints of their limited resources. Like the Rebels he’d been working alongside for the past four months, Leia believed Han was merely fighting for survival in a galaxy suffocating under the weight of Imperial oppression. Although he routinely ran missions for the Alliance with a blithe—and occasionally blatant—disregard for Imperial laws, Leia knew in her heart that he wasn’t a corrupt man.

But his furious response to being questioned and the sneer he’d directed at Leia herself had triggered her own angry reaction and then, like a plasma torch touching powdered magnesium, the conversation had exploded. Though far from being a rarity, verbal skirmishes with Han were usually quite mild by comparison; Leia would even go so far as to say they were often friendly and good-natured—that is, until they _weren’t._ Still, their most intense confrontations to date had resulted in nothing worse than Han storming off, muttering Corellian oaths and swearing for the hundredth time that he was _outta here,_ and Leia fuming in frustration and vowing that they were all better off just to let him go.

Even as she thought such things (or in the case of their most recent encounter, actually _said_ them), she knew they weren’t true; Han and Chewie had been invaluable to the Alliance, using the _Falcon_ to make crucial personnel transfers and countless supply runs, without which High Command would struggle to keep the tiny base operational even in a limited capacity. Both Han and his Wookiee co-pilot had proved to be capable in other important roles, too, often pitching in to work alongside the starfighter pilots and technicians, lending their considerable expertise to troubleshooting technical problems and implementing clever modifications to the X-wing and Y-wing craft that were essential to the survival of the small Rebel cell they served. And furthermore, Leia mused, they routinely did that sort of work of their own accord, without even a suggestion that they should be paid for it—despite the Corellian’s occasional assertions that he was there for the money they paid him, and nothing else.

Moreover, Leia found herself looking forward to her interactions with Han, and she actually missed his company when he was away on extended assignments, although she couldn’t imagine ever admitting as much to him. Though they’d only been acquainted for a few months, she’d begun to find the prospect of engaging with him in _any_ sort of capacity to be strangely energizing. Even their occasionally tense interactions seemed to give her a burst of motivation, as if sparring with him was the force she needed to keep setting one foot in front of the other in some semblance of normalcy. She just wished she had a little more control over her own hot temper where he was concerned.

Sipping her kaffe, Leia watched in silence as Han finished tinkering with the auto-kaffe’s intestines and then reached around to depress the dispenser control again. He gave a little grunt of satisfaction as the machine engaged once more, this time with a little less clamour. As his cup began to fill, he replaced the side panel of the appliance, and then leaned on straightened arms against the edge of the counter, absently drumming the fingers of one hand on the durasteel while he waited. Leia’s eyes drifted down his lean figure, briefly admiring his masculine contours before giving herself another little mental shake. The last thing she wanted was for him to turn around and catch her looking at him so unguardedly; his ego was already the size of a small planet, and she didn’t care to make it any worse.

When the auto-kaffe cycle came to an end with a sputtering hiss and another ominous _thunk_ , Leia heard another muttered Corellian curse and watched Han give the reflective top panel of the machine an additional half-hearted knock with the heel of his hand.

“That’s a lot of work for one cup of kaffe,” Leia ventured, raising her voice a little to cover the distance between them. She hoped that his ire towards her had cooled somewhat in the hours since their last encounter.

“Worth it, I hope?” he rejoined, tossing the comment over his shoulder. As he turned in her direction, he met her gaze with a spark of something like amusement gleaming in his eyes. One corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile.  

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she returned wryly, lifting her cup to her lips for another sip. She tried her best to disregard the warm, fluttering sensation that suddenly bloomed in the pit of her stomach. She knew that her reaction to the sight of that lopsided grin wasn’t just simple relief at his apparent good mood, but it vexed her to acknowledge—even in the privacy of her own thoughts—that she felt an involuntary little jolt when he flashed that smile in her direction.

 _Well_ , _at least he_ is _smiling,_ Leia told herself, dragging her mind back to the point. _That beats the alternative_.

Lowering her head in apparent contemplation of the cup now nestled between her hands, she nevertheless found her eyes shifting up, covertly observing Han’s movements as he crossed the distance between them. With his hair sticking out in a dozen different directions and a trace of stubble on his jaw, it appeared as though he’d fought and lost the battle for sleep, just as she had. He looked dishevelled—even a little scruffy—but to Leia’s consternation, she found the look even more attractive than his usual slightly rumpled hair and clean-shaven jaw. As Han reached the table, Leia took in the flex of muscle in his forearm and the bulge of his biceps as he pulled back the chair across from her and sat down, then realized somewhat belatedly that she was staring again and biting her lip.

_There must be a law, somewhere, against looking that good straight out of bed._

She wrenched her gaze away from him as soon as the vagrant thought crossed her mind, pressing her lips together and ruthlessly crushing the fleeting thought—about how he would look _in_ bed—that tried to follow it.

 _Get a grip, Organa,_ she chastised herself. _This is Han Solo._

He was undoubtedly a good-looking man, and she was by no means immune to that killer smile.  It seemed few females were, if she were to believe some of the _other_ reports surrounding Han’s off-duty behaviour that were currently circulating around the base. Though she’d never been one to listen to gossip, let alone repeat it, some of the whispers were so salacious they’d been difficult to ignore. Some of the things she’d overheard cast Han in a very unfavourable light indeed, bordering on vulgar _,_ and the rumours seemed to be spreading like wildfire, especially among the female staff. Leia could easily reject the idea that Han would take advantage of his association with the Alliance for personal gain—nothing in the way he conducted himself even hinted at that as a possibility——but he _was_ the most conceited and insufferably cocky human being she’d ever met, and the more indecorous speculation swirling around his personal life was somewhat harder to dismiss. She concentrated on keeping her gaze trained downwards as he settled into his seat, hoping he hadn’t taken note of her scrutiny.

Han took a sip of his kaffe, grimacing slightly. “Ugh. Beyond the first taste, this stuff’s pretty bad,” he remarked. “Packs a punch, though.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed one booted ankle over the opposite knee, and then rested his cup on his thigh and regarded Leia from across the table with a look of contemplation.

Leia nodded, recognizing his attempt at light, casual conversation for what it was—an offer of truce, an effort to bridge the awkward gap stretching between them in the wake of their earlier confrontation. Conscious of his direct gaze, Leia fiddled with the handle of her cup. She flicked her eyes upward and offered a guarded smile.

“Does this mean you’re still talking to me?” she asked.

“That depends,” he responded flatly, as if he’d been expecting the question.

Striving to keep her face composed and her tone level, she responded, “Depends on what?”

“On whether or not you’re gonna call me—what was it—a _Bantha-brained buffoon_ , again.”

Leia winced and resumed studying her kaffe, swirling the dark liquid around in the mug as she absorbed his comment. She _had_ called him that, among other ungracious monikers—and in more than one language. Once the epithets had starting flying between them, she’d felt powerless to stop; it was only in hindsight that she acknowledged that most of what she’d said was ridiculous, and all of it was unfair. Well, she amended inwardly, _almost_ all of it.

“I apologize for that,” she offered in a formal tone, then lifted her eyes to his once more. “That was…unnecessary. And unkind.”

Han regarded her impassively for a moment, then shook his head and sighed. “Look, Princess, you don’t have to _like_ me—” he began.

“I assure you, Captain—”

“Just listen,” he interrupted, his voice taking on a sharper edge. “I’m here to do a job and get paid for it. That’s it. I don’t care if you think I’m a—what were some of the other ones? A dim-witted Woolamander? A gormless Ubeba?” Setting his cup aside, he uncrossed his legs, hitched his chair closer and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the tabletop. “ _Where_ do you come up with these, anyway? You lie awake at night thinkin’ ‘em up?”  

Leia felt her temper flare in response to his remarks, feeling irritated most of all by his repetition of the tedious refrain he’d been singing since the day they’d met: _I’m only in it for the money. I’m only in it for the money. I’m only in it for the money._

With some effort, she bit back the stream of acerbic words that rose almost instantly to her lips. The last thing she wanted was to ignite another round of scathing discourse. Instead, she breathed deeply and willed her tone to come across as light and teasing, rather than confrontational.

“ _Nothing_ to do with you keeps me awake at night, Captain,” she said with her sweetest smile. “Those names just seem to roll off my tongue whenever I’m talking to you.”

“Yeah, well, you can call me whatever you want, Your Worship,” he said, his gaze fixed on hers and his voice loaded with conviction, “but one thing I’m not is a _thief.”_

A heavy silence fell between them in the wake of that assertion. Han’s eyes held hers unwaveringly, and his mobile mouth was for once closed and set in a firm line. Reading his expression, Leia realized that his desire to make that unambiguous statement was probably the main reason he’d opted to join her at the table instead of taking his kaffe and making himself scarce. Despite the flash of irascibility at the surface, the genuine honesty she saw in the depths of his hazel eyes was unmistakable.

Unsettled by the intensity of his gaze, Leia swallowed hard and turned her face away, masking her mild discomfort with a glance upwards at the chrono before dropping her eyes back once more to the depths of her mug. In that moment she knew unequivocally what she would be reporting back to Dodonna: Han was innocent of the charge. She had already completed a thorough investigation and satisfied herself on that count anyway. In the absence of credible evidence, the matter could be closed without the need for further investigation; however, Han’s evident sincerity provided further reassurance that it was the right call.

She lifted her gaze once more, poised to inform him of her final position, perhaps even to reassure him that she harboured no personal doubts on the matter, and found him still looking at her. But he no longer wore the look of indignation he had just moments ago; instead, he was studying her with an expression of thoughtful curiosity on his face. She pulled her robe a little closer around her. “What?” she asked, inexplicably self-conscious.

“Nothin’,” he replied, drawing the word out slightly. “It’s just—I’ve never seen you with your hair down.”

Her hand flew to the loose waves flowing over her shoulder. “Oh...well, I didn’t exactly plan on meeting up with anyone at this hour.” She felt completely baffled by the incongruous comment on her personal appearance, but before she could say anything more, Han spoke again.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

Leia saw in an instant, and with a little quiver of surprise, that he’d meant the compliment sincerely. But she also saw the flash of something else in his eyes—a flicker of self-reproach that told her he hadn’t meant to say that word aloud. Almost immediately, one half of his face crinkled up in a sardonic smile. “Softens you up a little,” he remarked in an altogether different tone of voice, then lifted his cup of kaffe to his lips to hide his expression.

Leia straightened in her chair and lifted her chin a notch. “I don’t need ‘softening up’, Captain,” she informed him icily. “And I don’t need your approval of my hairstyle, either.”

Han nodded, his expression once again composed, revealing nothing. His remarkable eyes roamed freely and audaciously from the top of her head to the dark brown tendrils that spilled over one shoulder and tumbled down over her breast. “Just sayin’,” he drawled, lifting one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug, “I like long hair.”

Leia gaped for a moment in consternation.

 _So what_ if he was good-looking? He was also unbearably full of himself, and easily the most infuriatingly arrogant and uncouth man she’d ever encountered. What did _she_ care what kind of hair he liked? _Why would he tell her something like that?!_ She gave him a withering glare, and then snapped in frank derision, “Then I guess it’s a good thing you’ve got a Wookiee to keep you warm at night.”

The words had flown straight past her verbal filter and out of her mouth before the more judicious part of her mind had a chance to bridle her tongue. She never spoke to _anyone_ the way she spoke to Han, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. _And anyway_ , she rationalized, _he had it coming._

Far from being annoyed, however, Han’s eyes merely twinkled with apparent amusement at her attempts to insult him. “Chewie _is_ pretty good-lookin’,” he grinned, toying idly with the curved handle of his kaffe cup, “but I can’t say he’s my type.”

Leia gritted her teeth a little, feeling simultaneously vexed that her shot hadn’t found its mark and appalled at herself for indulging in this kind of petty exchange in the first place. But her mouth seemed to have a mind of its own.

“Yes, well, we all know what your _type_ is, Captain.”

Han paused with his mug halfway to his mouth, peering at her over the rim. “Is that right?” he drawled. He took a sip and then, setting the mug down in front of him once more, leaned back in his chair, braced his hands on his thighs and levelled an inquisitive gaze at her. “Enlighten me, Your Worship.”

Leia felt her stomach give a little lurch. She had a strong suspicion about where Han was going with this line of enquiry, and she realized then that the conversation was poised to take a sharp turn in exactly the wrong direction. With a population of just over five hundred sentients, the base was small enough to make it entirely plausible that, in making the rounds, the scandalous rumours had managed to reach Han’s ears as well.

Fleetingly, she wondered how someone with her confident grasp of politics and protocols—someone whose career had been built on the ability to read people, to communicate and negotiate—could continue to blunder so badly when it came to simple conversation with another human being.

 _Not_ all _human beings_ , she reminded herself. The problem seemed to be isolated to _this particular human being_.

Owing to her extensive experience in the political arena, she normally had no difficulty when it came to discussions of even the most sensitive nature. The subject of Han Solo’s sexual proclivities and somewhat dubious exploits, however, was not an area into which she wanted to venture, and she recognized the value of a hasty retreat. She shook her head in response to Han’s request, and began to rise from her chair.

“Good night, Captain,” she said in as civil a tone as she could muster, realizing belatedly that it was the wrong time of day for such a farewell.

“Sit down, Princess.”

“I have a long day ahead of me, Han, and so do you. We should—”

“Sit down... _please_ ,” Han amended, lowering his voice to a rumble that could only be described as intimate, whether he’d intended it to sound that way or not. “I want to know what you’ve heard.”

“What I’ve—.” The pit of Leia’s stomach dropped; it seemed her suspicions were correct. She stopped herself and pressed her lips together briefly, opting for a bluff. Ignoring Han’s request, she nudged her chair back and straightened to her full height, drawing the edges of her threadbare robe together over her abdomen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Han’s eyes remained trained on hers as she stood, and the look he gave her said he wasn’t the least bit fooled by her assertion.

“Sure you do. I’ve been hangin’ around long enough to know how most of these Rebs fill up the slack time in between shifts, or even on duty, when they’re not gearing up for a fight.” Han stretched back in his seat a little and then slung one arm casually over the back of the adjacent empty chair. “People like to talk to pass the time. And for some folks, there ain’t nothin’ more interesting to talk about than other people’s lives.”  

Leia gave herself a mental kick.

_Nice going, Organa. You blundered right into this one with your eyes wide open._

For a brief moment, she struggled to recall what they’d actually been discussing before stumbling onto this line of conversation, then gave it up. What did it matter? Han was zeroing in on the fact that he was the subject of gossip of the most unsavoury kind and something told her he would not be dissuaded from trying to find out what she’d heard. She wavered for a moment over whether to leave anyway, Han’s preferences be damned, but then found herself sinking back down onto her chair, opting to continue the conversation for reasons she had yet to fully examine.

Seeing her take her seat once more, Han gave her a genuine smile, the kind that showed a flash of even, white teeth and made his eyes crinkle up at the corners, and Leia cursed herself for a fool. He was just too charming for his own damn good, she decided, _or_ for hers. Belatedly, she realized that if anyone were to enter the mess hall now in the wee hours of the morning and find her sitting with Han, both of them with their hair tousled and dressed for bed, she would very swiftly become fodder for the rumour mill herself.

“So... I’m guessing,” Han continued, dropping his gaze to the tabletop and tracing a finger around the rim of his mug, “you heard from somebody that I’ve been foolin’ around with more than just the hardware around here.” He slanted a glance upwards to meet her eyes again. “The least you can do is fill me in on what I’ve been up to, seein’ as how everybody _else_ seems to be better at keeping track of that than I am.”

Leia paused, searching for a way to gloss over the information without lengthy discussion or revealing any of the actual details. “Well,” she began, “It _is_ a relatively small operation here and, as you’ve said, there’s a lot of gossip floating around. One can’t help but...hear things, in passing.”

“Such as?” Han pressed.

“Uh…just _things_ , you know,” she managed. “The usual. About...women.” She winced inwardly; she’d never been so inarticulate in her life.

“Ah.” Han leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. It was clear he was not going to let her gloss over the point, nor get away _quite_ that easily. “C’mon, you can be more specific than that,” he urged.

Leia squirmed in her seat, regretting her decision to continue the conversation. “Han, I really don’t care to—“

“You ain’t gonna shock me, Sweetheart, if that’s what you’re worried about. Not much does. Not unless you come up with a new one I’ve haven’t got wind of yet. Some of them _are_ pretty damn creative.”

“It’s not that, it’s just....it simply isn’t good form to repeat gossip.”

“ _Good form_?” Han echoed wonderingly, his eyebrows lifting in an incredulous expression at her prim choice of words before his face relaxed into a knowing smile. “That’s just human nature, Princess. I don’t usually pay any attention to it myself, but Chewie’s a glutton for it,” he smirked. “He thinks human rumour-mongering is one of our more _endearing_ traits, and people always seem to talk freely around a Wookiee anyway. Most folks can’t understand _him_ , so I guess they figure he can’t understand them, either.” Han paused, eyeing the princess speculatively. “And he loves to pass along some of the more...amusing stories he’s heard, especially when they’re about me.”

“I wouldn’t call them _amusing_ , Captain,” Leia responded, her brows furrowing slightly.

Han maintained his casual posture, but his hazel gaze sharpened and his mouth tightened perceptibly. “What _would_ you call ‘em?”

Leia hesitated, scanning the Corellian’s face for a moment as it became clear to her why she’d lingered to continue the conversation: no matter how much she tried to convince herself of her own ambivalence, she wanted to know the truth.

She drew a breath and shook her head slowly from side to side. “Some of them are...hard to believe?” she offered. “A little far-fetched?”

“Well, there’s a good reason for that, Sweetheart,” he responded. “Because if you’ve heard all of the same things _I’ve_ heard, you’ve been hearing a pack of lies.”

Leia arched one fine eyebrow and cast him a doubtful glance. “All of them.”

“Every last one.”

Leia returned her gaze to his, silently measuring his sincerity, while simultaneously wondering why she continued to pursue this line of enquiry—why she even _cared_. “You seem very sure of that. I’ve heard a few….”

She had, in fact, heard more than a few, and while some of them seemed rather silly, and harmless enough, one or two seemed to malign Han’s character more seriously. There was no suggestion of illegal or highly immoral sexual behaviour on his part—that was something both Leia and her colleagues in High Command would have been forced to investigate. But the nastier rumours swirling around the handsome smuggler made him out to be a reprobate of the worst kind; a truly callous and unkind man. Those were the ones Leia found most disturbing, mainly because they sharply contradicted the evidence of her own senses.

Han could be surly at times, sure; but he was never cruel or malicious, as far as she had seen. Furthermore, he’d been especially kind to her in the aftermath of the destruction of the Death Star, when all of the harrowing events of those first few days were behind them, and the magnitude of her personal losses had begun to sink in. He’d been a mostly silent but solid support for her then, and she’d formed the opinion that, despite his dodgy occupation and his sometimes irascible attitude, he was in fact a decent human being. And she didn't like to think that he—or anyone else, for that matter—could have her so completely fooled.

“Yeah, I _am_ sure they’re all lies,” Han emphasised, drawing her attention back to the subject at hand. ”Look, Princess, did you ever stop to notice how none of the women involved are ever named directly?” he pointed out. “And if they are, they’re people who left this base a month or two ago? It’s _always_ someone who’s been transferred. That’s the catch, isn’t it? There’s nobody around to prove, or disprove, any of it.” He shrugged. “I’m not sayin’ I’m a poster boy for model behaviour, but there seems to be somebody around here trying to make me look like a real jerk.”

“But why?” Leia asked, compelled by his uncharacteristic openness. “What have you done that was so terrible that people feel the need to discredit you?”

He considered her carefully for a moment, as if weighing his answer. At length, he heaved a sigh, allowing his eyes to roam all around the empty refectory for a moment before returning his gaze to her face.

“I don’t think it’s _people_ , in general,” he ventured. “I don’t know for sure, but I suspect it boils down to _one_ person. Someone who was a little...uh... _disappointed_ in me.”

Leia blinked. She’d only known him for four months, but it seemed greatly out of character for Han Solo to admit to any shortcomings, as it were. Intrigued, she opened her mouth to ask for clarification, but he spoke again before she could formulate the question.  

“I mean, disappointed that I declined to take her up on a certain _offer_ ,” he amended. His weighty tone left Leia with little doubt as to what the _offer_ actually entailed.

There was that enormous ego again, Leia thought with exasperation. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Believe what you want, Princess, but that’s the truth.”

She met his level gaze once more. His eyes had that _look_ in them again, the one that left no doubt in her mind about his veracity. Despite his dismissive words, she got the distinct impression that her opinion in this matter was, for reasons she could not yet discern, quite important to him. She gave him a small smile.

“I do believe you,” she said quietly.

“Good,” he said, and gave an approving nod as he retrieved his mug. “That’s good.”

Leia did the same, picking up her cup and taking another sip, all the while marvelling over the fact that Han actually seemed gratified at receiving validation from her. The kaffe was lukewarm now, and even more bitter than before, but it served to wash away the sudden dryness in her mouth.

“I can’t say it comes as a surprise,” she continued after a moment. ”I’ve _seen_ you flirting with women around the base, Han.”

She bit her lip, shocked to hear herself pursuing the line of conversation. It was as though someone else were in charge of her mouth, making her say things she didn’t mean to say out loud. She considered Han to be a friend, of course. He’d saved her life, and their shared experience of escaping the Death Star and then contributing to its destruction had created a sort of bond between them—a bond Leia hadn’t yet examined too closely, and which they never discussed. But Han’s personal life and sexual pursuits were absolutely none of her business, Leia admonished herself. She had no idea why they were even discussing such things.

“ _Harmless_ flirting,” Han corrected, seeming not at all perturbed by her impertinent comment.

“Clearly there was at least one person who didn’t see it that way,” Leia muttered into her cup, wondering if it was the cumulative lack of sleep or the wretched kaffe that was to blame for her runaway mouth.

“Yeah, well, that ain’t my fault,” he said firmly.

“Isn’t it?” she countered, raising a curious eyebrow.

“No. It ain’t.” He plunked his mug down on the table, a little harder than necessary. “And contrary to yet _another_ popular rumour, Princess, I don’t have the urge to bunk every pretty girl I see. Beauty alone ain’t enough to interest me anyway.”

Leia opted to let his last statement, and the odd flicker in his eyes that accompanied it, slide by without comment, although she found herself enjoying the unexpected intimacy of the moment. She seldom had lengthy exchanges with anyone these days that didn’t revolve around the Empire, or Alderaan, or keeping the Rebellion alive. In a moment of sudden clarity, she realised that Han’s egalitarian treatment of her—as a _person_ ; not a princess or a politician or a paymaster—was one of the things she liked most about him. And it was a rare and sweet sort of indulgence to be able to talk so freely about personal matters with a friend.

“Well, your behaviour was bound to get you into trouble, sooner or later,” she commented breezily, warming to the topic. “You strut around the place like some sort of Rodian peacock, using your looks to your benefit every chance you get, and flirting like a Loth-cat in heat. Really, it’s a wonder—”

“Whoa,” he halted her with a raised hand. “Back it up. My _looks?_ ”

Leia’s brain scrambled to recall exactly what she’d said. “What?”

“You think I’m attractive?” His face lit up with a wide smirk.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Not in so many words. But even if you _hadn’t,_ you don’t need to. I saw you checkin’ me out when I was trying to get the auto-kaffe working.”

“You weren’t even looking at me!” Leia protested, feeling her stomach flutter. She realized even as she spoke that she’d failed to deny the charge. _Rookie mistake._

“The machine’s plated in _chromium_ , Sweetheart; makes a very nice rear-view mirror.”

Leia could feel a hot flush rising in her cheeks and silently cursed her traitorous body for displaying her embarrassment so clearly. She could still call upon her considerable skills in diplomacy to bluff it out, though—or so she hoped. She hardened her expression and met his delighted gaze with a frosty one of her own.

“You certainly have an active imagination, Captain. I was not ‘checking you out’, nor did I say you were attractive. What I _said_ was that you use your looks to your advantage.”

“Exactly. _Looks._ That means _good_ looks, which translates to: you think I’m attractive.” He pushed his mug aside and laced his fingers together on the tabletop, leaning forward with an expression of eager interest. “So, what do you find most attractive about me, Princess?”

Leia rolled her eyes and angled her face away, fighting the urge to break into a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“Really? That’s a weird thing to find attractive, you know. I woulda laid odds it was my—”

“You’re beyond insufferable,” she huffed, flashing him a hot glare. “You’re _impossible_.”

“You’re dodging the question, Sweetheart.”

“And _you’re_ missing the point!” She jabbed her finger in his direction, vaguely recognizing with some chagrin that it was a mannerism she had, somewhere along the line, picked up from _him_. She snatched her hand back and folded it with the other in her lap, straightening her shoulders and giving Han a knowing look. “The fact remains that you flirt with virtually every female that crosses your path. It shouldn’t come as a big surprise if one of them offers to take you up on it.”

“Now wait a minute,” Han protested, putting on an injured expression. “That’s not true. Even if I did flirt with _that person_ , it was ages ago. I haven’t flirted with anyone else in months except for—”

He stopped short, and Leia would have sworn that she could see the sun-bronzed skin of his throat flush a shade darker. She cocked an eyebrow.  

“Except for...?”

He didn’t answer, but his expression flickered just enough for Leia to guess at what he’d been about to say. She couldn’t quite stifle the little laugh that bubbled up in her throat.

“Oh, is _that_ what you think you’ve been doing all this time? Flirting with _me_?” She didn’t even bother trying to hide the glee she felt at being able to score a point against him in his own game. “You have a lot to learn, then, Flyboy; I’ve had better attempts at flirtation from astromech droids.”

“Well, forgive me, Your Highness,” Han smirked at her, smoothly recovering his composure. “I seem to have misplaced my how-to guide on ‘ _How to Flirt with Feisty Princesses_.’”

“And you needn’t go looking for it, either,” she said in a firm tone. “I’m not here for you to flirt with, Captain.”

“Now, _that’s_ a shame.” He sank back in his chair, and fixed her with a cocky grin. “I was just gettin’ warmed up; you’ll be missing out on some of my best work.”

“The same type that got you into this in the first place?” she returned drily. “I’ll pass, thanks just the same.”

Leia saw something flash in Han’s eyes then, a spark of high-spirited joy that ignited an animated glow of amusement that spread across his handsome face. She realized that he was enjoying this lively exchange as much as she, and he seemed completely enthralled—and perhaps a little stymied—by the fact that she wasn’t just holding her own, she was managing to one-up him at every turn. Keeping her eyes locked on his face, she watched him work his jaw, as if he were biting back a retort that was poised on the tip of his tongue, and then he dropped his gaze and shook his head, hiding a smile behind an exaggerated grimace as he took his last swallow of cold kaffe.  

A silence fell between them then, easy and companionable, broken only by the occasional pop and gurgle of the faltering auto-kaffe and the audible hum of the ventilation system. The mess hall remained deserted, although the chrono display told Leia they’d been sitting together for over twenty minutes, and the Rebels who were scheduled to work the next shift would no doubt soon begin to trickle through the door.

Still eyeing Han’s jovial expression, Leia couldn’t suppress the smile that lifted the corners of her own mouth. She realized with a sense of amazement that the feelings of fatigue and worry that had plagued her earlier had vanished, replaced by a warm thrum of exhilaration. She felt energized, grounded, and _alive._ When Han cut his eyes back to hers and she saw how very pleased with himself he appeared, she suddenly wondered if that had been his goal all along.

 _There’s definitely more to this man than money,_ she mused. _No matter_ what _he says._

“Look, I’ve learned my lesson, all right?” he said at length, tilting his head back to scratch under his chin and then levelling his gaze at her once more. “That’s all I’m sayin’. And it’s me that’s gotta live with the fallout; I accept that. I just...well, I wanted you to know the truth.”

Leia nodded, suddenly aware of another sensation bubbling up alongside the others: she felt _relieved_ , as if an invisible knot had been loosened in her stomach. Although she wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on the reasons why, she felt a little lighter knowing that Han _hadn’t_ been engaged in any of the alleged activities that had tongues wagging all over the base.

But she couldn’t help but feel a sense of indignation, as well, for what he’d been made to endure. Between the host of outrageous comments circulating about his off-duty exploits, and the slightly more slanderous tone the more recent accusation had taken, it was a wonder he hadn’t just given up and headed for open skies.

She was struck by a sudden flash of insight.

”Han, you do realize that the person spreading those rumours is probably the same person that submitted that false report to High Command, don’t you?”

“Sure I do.”

“Well, why don’t you speak up, then? Defend yourself? She could be reprimanded—even suspended—for conduct unbecoming.”

“And who’s going to believe me over _her_?” he scoffed lightly. “I ain’t naming any names, Sweetheart, but I’ll go so far as to say that she’s an _officer._ And I’m just the hired help. Besides, if she's hell bent on retribution _now,_ can you imagine what would happen if the whole story came out?” He gave a little shake of his head. “Chances are it would just make things worse. And anyway, she's just embarrassed, and trying to do the same thing to me. It’ll blow over. And it would be a shame for her to have a permanent mark on her record over somethin’ so stupid.”

“It’s not just stupid, Han, it’s… it’s _spiteful._ A ridiculous and immature reaction to being turned down.”

“Yeah, well,” Han gave a soft snort and then a rueful smile. “That’s the thing, see. I did a little more than just turn her down.”

Fascinated, Leia found herself leaning towards him, resting her forearms on the cold refectory table and giving him her full attention. “Oh? Do tell, Captain.”

“Hey,” Han pointed a stern finger at her. “I thought you said gossip was ‘bad form’.”

“ _Repeating_ gossip is bad form,” Leia corrected primly. “Listening to gossip is just...human nature.”

He stared at her for a second and then burst into a hearty laugh, and Leia found herself smiling broadly at him in return.

“Okay, Princess. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He glanced down at her almost-empty mug. “Want a refresh?”

“ _Please_ ,” she replied, pushing the mug toward him. “It’s bad enough hot. It’s even worse cold.”

“Yeah. I reckon I could use it to strip rust from the _Falcon,_ in a pinch.” Han slid back his chair and rose to his feet, scooping up a mug in each hand and heading back toward the durasteel counter. “It was a month or so back,” he began, and then turned to glance over his shoulder. “That supply run we did to Cantos?”

Leia nodded and then quickly looked away, making a show of examining her fingernails very closely; she didn’t want to be caught staring again. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him giving the auto-kaffe another round of percussive maintenance.

“It was a tough run from start to finish,” he said, raising his voice a little to be heard over the groans and hisses of the kaffe machine kicking into gear. “And then on the way back we got caught in the sights of a couple of Imp patrols on the edge of the system, before we could make it into hyperspace. Got chased around a fair bit before we could recalculate and make the jump. By the time we got back here, me and Chewie were both so exhausted it was all we could do to check in and unload the cargo before we hit the bunks. And I hit mine pretty hard. Out cold in two minutes flat.”

Leia gave a little hum of acknowledgement as she turned her studious attention from her nails to her hair, gathering it all to one side and then parting it into sections before swiftly plaiting the long locks into a fat, loose braid that descended over one shoulder. She kept her face tilted in Han’s direction, to show that she was listening, but kept her eyes firmly trained on her task.

“Middle of the night, I hear a noise,” Han continued, wending his way back to the table with two mugs full of steaming kaffe. He set one down with care in front of Leia and then sat down and settled back into his own chair, meeting her gaze with a sparkle in his eye. “I look up, and there she is, stripping off her uniform beside the bunk.”

“How did she get aboard your ship?” Leia queried, her eyes widening in wonder. The two spacers were known for being more than a little paranoid when it came to securing the _Falcon_ while it was in dock. She had no idea who in the galaxy would possibly want to steal that rickety old bucket of bolts, but Han seemed to think it made an attractive target, and he was usually diligent in keeping it safe from unwanted intrusions.  

“So tired, I forgot to lock up, I guess,” he shrugged. “Losin’ my edge, hanging out here with all you goody two-shoes for so long.”

Leia made a sour face, and then smirked a little at the way Han’s eyes trailed down, tracking the movements of her fingers as she came to the end of the long braid. She could almost hear the comment he wanted to make about her binding up her hair once more, but he wisely held his tongue as she wound a trailing strand of hair around the tail of the plait, securing it with a few deft loops. It was a practiced manoeuvre, but Han stared at her hands as though she’d just done something marvellous. Leia cleared her throat.

“You were saying?”  

He lifted his eyes to hers once more and then cleared his throat as well. “Yeah. Uh, let’s just say she was lucky I didn’t take a shot at her, sneaking up on me like that. I had my blaster in my hand before I realized who she was.” He sighed and took a sip of the hot kaffe, wincing a little at the taste. “I told her to get lost. She acted like she thought I was joking. Next thing I know, she’s lifting up the sheets and trying to crawl in beside me.”

Leia’s eyebrows climbed.

Han nodded. “Yep. And she’s _all hands_.”

The urge to laugh was strong, but then Leia tried to imagine how she’d feel in a similar situation, and quickly sobered. “So...what did you do?”

“What any sensible man would do in that situation. Called for backup.”

“Chewie?”

“Chewie,” Han affirmed. “And lemme tell you, Princess, a grumpy Wookiee being woken up from a sound sleep ain’t no joke. He came roaring into my cabin, took one look at our intruder and then picked her up and carted her down the ramp. Dumped her in the middle of the hangar in nothing but her Alliance-issue skivvies.”

“Oh dear,” Leia bit her lip. “And what did _you_ do?”

“ _Me?_ Nothin’. Went back to sleep.”

Leia gave him a dubious shake of the head. “You did not.”

Han laughed. “Nah, I got dressed and went out to talk to her and return her clothes, but she was already gone. _Then_ I went back to sleep.” He gave another little shrug. “Anyway, she’s been trying to find a way to get back at me ever since.”

“Tell me who she is, Han. I’ll speak to her—off the record, of course—and maybe save her some more serious repercussions down the line. She can’t expect to file spurious reports like that with impunity, after all. It’s a waste of time and resources.”  

Han’s expression grew slightly pained. “Nah, Princess, leave it alone.” And then, belatedly, he added, “Please.”

Leia looked away for a moment and released a sigh; there was something in the earnest tone of his voice that plucked a string of emotion deep within her; it was a strange feeling she couldn’t quite identify, but it set up a little quiver in her stomach. She turned her face back to his, but before she could respond to his request, he continued.

“ _You_ know the truth, Leia. That’s the important thing,” he said. “And I can handle whatever else she wants to try. It’ll die down eventually—things like this always do. When she realizes she ain’t gettin’ a rise outta me, she’ll give up and move on.”

Leia gave an incredulous shake of her head. “I must be dreaming,” she mused. “You sound very much like a completely balanced, insightful and logical man. Wait until _that_ rumour gets out.”

Han barked a laugh. “You call tell that one to anybody you want, Sweetheart; nobody would believe you. Besides, I’d just deny it. Gotta keep my reputation as a Bantha-brained buffoon intact.” He gave her a wink.

Leia offered him a warm, genuine smile in return. She already knew she wouldn’t be speaking of their conversation to anyone else. This surprising little interlude was something she would keep to herself; a pleasant memory of a happy moment—an _ordinary_ moment, chatting with a friend over kaffe—that she would tuck away close to her heart, and hold up in challenge against the dark and bitter memories that too often occupied her thoughts.  

Han matched her smile with a crooked grin of his own. “In the meantime,” he continued, taking a healthy swig from his cup and then setting it down on the table with a sigh. “I’m kinda having fun hearing just how far-fetched those rumours are getting. I mean, some of ‘em are theoretically impossible.”

Leia nodded. “I’ll admit, I did wonder about a few of them.”

“Yeah? Like what? C’mon, Princess. You know now it’s all nonsense anyway. Won’t hurt to tell me what you’ve heard.”  

Leia hesitated, eyeing Han with a measure of uncertainty. Since he was already privy to most of the ridiculous snippets of misinformation being circulated, she supposed there was no harm in relaying some of more notable examples.

“Well, there’s this one….” She gave a delicate little cough. “Let’s just say I wasn’t entirely convinced it would even be feasible to get that many bodies into the cockpit of a ship that size.”

“Trust me, Sweetheart, it ain’t.” He flashed her that disarming crooked smile again and added a mischievous wink. “That I know for a _fact_.”

Leia felt the heat return to her cheeks in a rush. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” she managed, and then winced inwardly at the intimation of what she’d said.   

Han gave a low chuckle. “And I’m sure you’ve heard the one about me and the Mantiki woman? The gunner who was assigned here briefly, a few weeks back?”

“I thought that was a bit strange,” Leia laughed. “But then again, you _have_ been known to take a few unnecessary risks from time to time. Don’t the females of that species sometimes try to _eat_ their...partners? In the heat of the moment?”

“Yep, and not in a good way. I like to think I'm adventurous when it comes to these things, but even I have my limits, and I sure as hell don't have a death wish.”

Leia dropped her gaze to her mug and willed the stubborn blush to fade from her cheeks. It wasn’t an easy task—not with the newly introduced suggestion that Han was, in fact, _adventurous_ in that arena causing a flood of stimulating images to flicker through her mind. But she was damned if she was going to back down from the conversation at this point. It took her a moment—a long moment during which she did not permit herself to notice the way the threadbare fabric of his shirt stretched over the well-defined muscles of his chest and arms—before she could speak again. Pooling together all the strategies she’d learned from her diplomatic training, she recovered her composure and decided to go for broke.

Lifting her chin, she met his gaze once more. “I think the most outrageous one I heard involved a box of buzz worms and a large quantity of Akirian honey....”

Han snorted. “Oh yeah. That one. That’s the best.” His hazel eyes twinkled with a playful gleam. “Actually, _that’s_ one I wouldn’t mind trying out.... You game, Princess?” he asked, raising a querying eyebrow. “Buzz worms are cheap, and I’ve got good connections on Akir. I know where I can score a whole lot of honey; you just say the word.”

Leia speared him with her most disparaging look. “You may want to keep an eye out for that _how-to-flirt_ guide, Captain,” she remarked drily. “Your grasp of the concept seems a little shaky.”

A hearty guffaw erupted from Han then; a deep, full, and genuine chortle that made him rock back in his chair and clap his hands together softly, as if he’d just won a prize. Leia was a little mystified by his delighted reaction to her mildly insulting remark, but she was grateful for his momentary distraction nevertheless, as it gave her a moment to compose herself. She’d been caught off-guard by the sudden _thud_ of her heart against her ribs and the quickening of her pulse when he’d looked her in the eye and made such a ribald proposition. She knew he was only joking, of course; saying things he thought would get a rise out of her, the way he always did. But that didn’t diminish the effect of such a suggestion made in his rumbling, gravelly voice; not with those remarkable eyes fixed on hers, too. She drew a deep breath and released it slowly, quirking an eyebrow at how Han continued to chuckle to himself, shaking his head.

“What’s so funny?” she ventured.

“That rumour,” he managed between snorts of laughter. “C’mon. _Buzz worms and honey?_ Not even a ‘dim-witted Woolamander’ like me would risk _that_.”

Leia blinked. The truth was, she had no idea what sort of sexual exploits one might enjoy with a handful of buzz worms—although she could imagine a few uses for the honey—and she certainly didn’t know what Han meant by the combination of the two items being _risky._ She stared at him in mild confusion, which he seemed to find even funnier. Furrowing her brow, she decided to wipe that smile off of his face, if only for a moment.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, Flyboy,” she said with a nonchalant shrug.

Han’s laughter choked off and turned into a strangled squawk as he gaped at her. “You...what? _No way_ ,” he declared, staring at her as if she’d taken leave of her wits.

For a long moment, Leia kept a perfectly straight face, her level gaze unwavering from his. As she watched Han’s eyes, she saw the doubts begin to creep in, undermining his confident assertion and the underlying assumption that she—Leia Organa, a princess—couldn’t _possibly_ have undertaken such an experience.

What did _he_ know about it, anyway, she grumbled inwardly. And _so what_ if he was right. It was still highly amusing to see his eyebrows tilt up together in the middle, and his mouth work soundlessly as he tried to come to grips with her insinuation. Despite her mightiest efforts at self-control, though, Leia simply could not maintain her impassive expression for long. He looked so bewildered and shocked, it was positively comical. Propping her elbow on the table and dropping her forehead into her open palm, she collapsed into helpless snorts of laughter.  

“What the—!” Han exclaimed, and then gave a groan of realisation. “Ahhhh, Princess. You almost had me goin’.”

“ _Almost?_ Hah! You should have seen the look on your face,” Leia retorted, slouching back in her chair, still laughing.

Han shook his head, but his shoulders were shaking, too, and his handsome face creased with a smile so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes. They laughed together for a long moment, and Leia soon found herself dabbing at her own eyes with the sleeve of her threadbare robe, catching the tears before they had the chance to roll down her cheeks. Fleetingly, she tried to recall the last time she’d felt unburdened enough to let go of her composure and abandon her starchy persona so completely. It felt so _good_ to laugh, though, and it served to heighten the feeling of energized calm that had been imparted by their lively conversation.

She realized after a moment that Han wasn’t laughing any longer, although a gratified smile still played around the corners of his mouth. He was lounging quietly across the table now, toying with the handle of his mug and gazing at her with a warm sparkle in the depths of his eyes.

As Leia caught her breath, she became acutely aware of a definite change in the energy that flowed between them. In the span of thirty short minutes, something had shifted—something so subtle that it defied immediate description but which was, nonetheless, as real and observable as the steady flashing of the chrono that ticked away the seconds above their heads. They’d begun the conversation warily; two sleepless souls with what had felt like a vast, tense gulf between them, and now they sat together in companionable mirth, sipping kaffe and sharing gossip like old, familiar friends. They gazed at each other for a lingering moment, both still smiling.

A sudden flood of bright light from the kitchen area and the clanging of pots and pans signalled the start of shift for the prep staff. A multi-armed, white-aproned Xexto cook exited the doors separating the kitchen from the serving area, and rounded the end of the long holding counter, his arms bulging with supplies to refresh the beverage station. He froze in his tracks, his deep-set eyes widening in apparent recognition of the unexpected occupants in the normally deserted hall, and then shuffled his load from arm to arm and lifted one free hand in a stiff salute.

Leia smiled warmly and offered an acknowledging nod in return, and then decided it was time for her to go. The usual throng of troops would soon be arriving in droves, searching for the eye-opening rush of a cup of kaffe and a filling, if simple and bland, morning meal.

She turned and focused her attention back on Han. “I’d say that’s our cue, Captain,” she announced as she pushed her chair back and stood, drawing the edges of her thin robe around her middle. “We’d better make ourselves presentable for the day.”

“Guess so,” Han agreed, but he appeared uncharacteristically absent as he held his position, keeping his eyes focused on swirling the remains of his kaffe at the bottom of his cup.

Although she knew he couldn’t see the gesture, Leia gave him a short nod and then turned to go. She had already taken several steps toward the door when she heard the deep rumble of Han’s voice behind her.

“By the way, Your Highness-ness?”

Leia halted, and pivoted halfway around to face him, giving an exaggerated roll of her eyes. The old Han hadn’t strayed _too_ far. “ _Yes_ , Your Gormless-ness?”

He smiled. “I _am_ gonna keep my eyes open for that how-to guide. And when I find it, I’m gonna need someone to practice on.” He gave her an inquisitive eyebrow. “And seein’ as how you’re the only Princess around….”

Leia smirked at him. “Are you sure you’re up for that challenge, Captain? Rumour has it that I’m a little on the frosty side. You know, _the Ice Princess_ , and all that.” She heaved a dramatic sigh. “Might be a little tougher than you think.”

“Yeah, well,” Han said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I don’t believe everything I hear. And anyway,” he added, fixing her with an appraising eye. “I’ve got insider information that says otherwise.”

Leia bit her lip against a smile as she turned away once more and headed for the hatch. “Goodbye, Han.”

“See you ‘round, Leia,” he returned softly. “Have a good day.”

Han’s deep voice drifted after her as she stepped through the door and ventured into the chilly corridor beyond. Indeed, his words were still ringing in her ears when she reached her quarters and started changing out of her sleep clothes and into her uniform. She found herself humming as she brushed and braided her hair, and then she realised, as she leaned over to straighten the blankets on her narrow bunk, that she was smiling again.

She’d left her rumpled bed less than an hour before, feeling shaky and strange, and already exhausted from the effects of her vivid nightmare. Now, as she powered up her datapad and tapped in a few search terms, she felt simultaneously relaxed, full of energy and ready to get to work—which she _would_ do, of course; _right_ after she educated herself on all possible uses for buzz worms and Akirian honey….

**-:¦:--:¦:--:¦:-**

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> (Sorry, this is nearly as long as the fic!) 
> 
> We haven’t written many fics set in the time period between ANH and ESB, mainly because we’ve been too busy making Han and Leia kiss and canoodle (among other things) in the cosy post-RotJ period, but also because others in this community do such a fantastic job of depicting that delicious UST so well, while we (as writers) find it hellishly difficult to get it right. Anyway, we usually prefer to just read that sort of thing than try to write it ourselves. 
> 
> In writing this story, though, it became very clear that we two share the notion that Han and Leia were actually good friends in this early time period. Our personal experiences tell us that couples that bicker incessantly rarely last, and two people who aren’t even a couple yet, who bicker incessantly, won’t even get together in the first place. So our shared headcanon is this: they were friends and allies from the start. Sure they bickered and teased, etc. But they were attracted to one another and they grew to like one another, and then to trust. Over time, they grew closer. We don’t imagine they became sexually intimate until the trip to Bespin, but we think they came pretty close to it, right before the encounter with the bounty hunter(s) on Ord Mantell changed Han’s mind about staying, and Leia got hella pissed off about that. We figured there had to be a reason why they were both so angry at each other at the beginning of ESB; you don’t get spittin’ mad at someone unless they mean something to you, and they’ve hurt you. All of that is a rather long-winded way of explaining why our Han and Leia are so friendly during this period; this takes place before the stakes between them were very high. - ED & JG


End file.
